The Many Adventures of the Cassidy Family
by Zander1210
Summary: Three years after Emma and Co. returned from Neverland, things had started to settle down. That was until Milah Cassidy was born and events started to get hectic again. With a fourteen year old Henry ready for adventure and a three year old Milah running around, Neal and Emma Cassidy are in for quite a crazy life. *Warning: SwanFire overload, complete with two SwanFire kids!*
1. Dash of Magic

**A/N: Hey, writers and readers! I'm Zander1210, formally known as Zanderluv121. I'm back and better than ever, bringing you many new Once Upon a Time stories. Send me a Private Message or comment to this story for what you would like to see for any other Once Upon a Time stories.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time characters. All credit goes to the wonderfully brilliant minds of Eddy and Adam. **

***Comments/reviews are always loved!***

* * *

"Milah," Emma called out, strutting down the wood-planked hallways of her two-story house with hopes of locating her three year old daughter. On the stairs, Emma heard scampering feet and shrieks of laughter wafting up the walls, drifting further away from the running bath water across the way from Milah's bedroom. As Emma neared the staircase, she traced outlines of tiny feet dipped in mud, a day's worth of playtime taking its revenge on the three year old's hands, feet, and face.

Faint, but audible, Emma heard a voice call back to her, the voice of her fourteen year old son. "Mom, she's in here," it informed, and even from a distance, Emma could hear the chuckle and picture the unmistakable grin that appeared on Henry's face as he yelled from his bedroom. Quickly, the blonde scrambled down the stairs and into Henry's room with her hands on her hips.

In front of her was two problems- the state of Henry's room and Milah, swinging like a monkey from a bed sheet that was upholstered with a long stick that Henry used to make forts for his sister to play in. Emma smiled in spite of herself and asked in a motherly tone, "Henry, didn't I tell you to clean up in here," she walked towards the blinds hanging off the bay window, opening them enough to let in a small bit of the Maine sunlight. "And you, Milah, are supposed to be taking a bath. You're all dirty, kid,"

Milah was an exact image of Emma already at age three, and Henry and Neal feared that her personality would only grow to be more like her mother when Milah was older. The three year old had long blonde, curly hair, sticking up in all places, rosy cheeks, bright green eyes, the shape of Emma's, plump lips and the skinniest frame a child could have even though it was stuffed with packages of cookies daily. In addition to appearance, Milah also had Emma's stubbornness, drive, and smarts, each trait developing by the years.

"I don't wanna take a bath, Mama," Milah complained in her rich, angelic voice, batting her eyelashes and shaking her head.

Henry leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, resting his arms behind his head, a position to relax in while he watched Emma and Milah begin their annual bath time arguing. Although Milah looked like Emma, Henry was a spitting image of Neal., Emma's husband and true love. The fourteen year old boy had grown once he returned from Neverland, all those years ago, towering over most of his classmates, but not tall enough to stand over Emma or Neal. Henry's brown eyes, aside from color, resembled the size and shape of Emma's, while his lips, chin, and nose did the same. Neal claimed that Henry's personality is nothing like Emma's, which it wasn't, and more like his own- happy, optimistic, book smart, and prideful.

"Milah, you have to, you have dirt all over you," Emma laughed, swiping off some mud with her thumb. "See? And, plus, we're going over Grandma and Grandpa's house tonight. I'm sure you don't wanna go over there looking like the garden ate you,"

"But- I don't _wanna_," Milah groaned, though a smile was crinkling at the corners of her eyes. "Hen'we doesn't have ta!" The three year old jumped off the bed and climbed into her brother's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and staring at him in his eyes. With a death glare, Milah asked, "Did _you_ go rollin' around in da mud today?"

Henry grabbed his sister by the waist with a muscular arm and sat her down comfortably on his jean legs, then he ran a hand through his hair, gelled up in the front to look like a mountain peak. "Sorry, Milah, I'm agreeing with Mom on this one. You're a mess and you smell like wet dog,"

Milah's eyes glistened in accomplishment and she glanced down at her dirt checked shirt. "Pongo is gonna be so proud," she boasted, pointing towards a picture of Henry, Milah, Emma, Neal, and Archie's dalmatian, Pongo, a birthday gift for Henry when he turned fourteen. "But," Milah added with a sudden change of mind. "I guess I will do what Mama says and take a bath,"

Emma took Milah's outreached hands and clamped her onto her waist, carrying her daughter towards the upstairs bathroom. "That's my girl," the blonde remarked with a pat on her back. She closed the door to Henry's room after telling him they would be leaving for Mary Margaret and David's house in an hour.

* * *

A half an hour later, Emma carried a squeaky clean Milah down the stairs towards the gourmet kitchen, complete with dark wooded cabinets, stainless steel appliances that did not reflect the finger prints of two children, and bar stools that stood in front of an island. In the breakfast nook, a glass table sat with four chairs and a booster seat sitting on one of those four chairs. Emma placed Milah into the booster seat, grabbed a juice box from the refrigerator, and ran a brush through Milah's tangled hair.

While Emma brushed away knots in her daughter's hair, she reflected on the last three years. Thinking back, Emma noticed many events had happened- her wedding, the arrival of Milah, the full custody of Henry, buying a new house, becoming a full-time mom, and running her duty as sheriff. It wasn't until the front door burst open that Emma was pulled from her thoughts.

"Papa!" Milah screamed at the top of her lungs, running towards her father.

Neal scooped his daughter up in his arms and tickled her stomach, laughing as she squirmed and giggled. "Hey, peanut," he exclaimed, placing Milah gently onto the floor. "Papa missed you today,"

The three year old grinned up at her father and replied, "I missed you, too," she began jumping up and down, no longer containing her excitement. "Guess what! Guess what!"

Neal pretended to ponder, but gave up quickly and threw his hands up into the air. "What?" he asked his daughter, leading her back into the kitchen were Emma was leaning back in her chair, relaxing now that her husband was home.

"I p'wayed outside all day today!" Milah answered, pointing outside at the bright sunlight. "Mama let me, but made me come in to take a bath," Shaking her head in disapproval, Milah let droplets of water escape from her hair and onto the table.

"Did she?" Neal questioned, his hands on his hips, as Milah nodded her head. "Well, did you put up a fight?" he knew that Milah loathed taking baths and avoided them at all costs, wanting to stay dirty and sweaty, rather than clean and brand new.

At once, both Emma and Milah answered, each giving a different answer. "No," squeaked Milah, while Emma declared a simple, "Yes," Milah turned to face her mother, a glare in her little green eyes, ready to give Emma a piece of her mind, but coward back in regards to Emma's knowing look. "O'tay, o'tay, I did,"

Neal held out his finger and silenced Milah. "Ah, that's the stubborn girl I know," he replied, winking at Milah as he stalked up to his wife. The three year old ran away from her parents, leaving them in the kitchen alone. Emma sat with her head resting against the chair and her eyes closed, barely noticing Neal's presence as he bent over her and kissed her lips again and again. "And how is Mama Bear?" he asked between kisses.

"Tired," Emma responded with a sigh, her eye glued shut. Neal smirked and placed the grocery's on the table, before rubbing his hands together and giving Emma's shoulders a massage.

"I know, babe, I'm sorry, and if I could take a day out of work, I would, but-," Neal started.

Emma cut Neal off, feeling the aches in her shoulders shift away. "Your father won't let you because he's old, deteriorating, and slow," A small laugh escaped Neal's mouth and Emma felt her face form into a smile, hearing the laugh of her husband was like church bells ringing on a Sunday morning.

"I was gonna say _depending on me to run his shop_, but deteriorating is fine. It's not totally offensive, in comparison to what you normally say about him," Neal retorted, digging into Emma's back softer and softer as the aches grew lesser and lesser in size and pain. "And, he's giving our kids Godforsaken magic lessons, so it's the least I can do,"

Emma opened her eyes and turned around to face her husband, perverse written all over her face. Never one to be reminded that her kids were taking magic lessons from the Dark One, Emma tried hard to forget that Henry and Milah were born of true love, like their mother, in which the two kids' bodies, minds, and forms were made of magic. "I know, I know,"

Neal leaned over Emma's head and gave her another kiss on the lips. "I saw David today," Neal added, once breaking loose from the pulsating kiss. "He said we were going over their house tonight. Please, tell me it's not true,"

"I would, but I'd be lying, and we have to teach our kids not to lie," Emma chided, retreating from the kitchen table and giving Neal one last kiss on the lips, before following the sounds of Milah and Henry's voices into the playroom.

* * *

The Cassidy family is always late. Whether it's for parties, school, dinners, performances, movies, or, in this case, family gatherings, Emma, Neal, Henry, and Milah arrived forty five minutes late to every event. So, as Neal took more time than needed in the shower and Henry dug through endless piles of shirts laying on his bedroom floor, Emma and Milah rested their backs against the front door, mirroring each other.

Time had been well for Emma, who's beauty had increased with each passing minute. She grew taller and lankier, while her long, blonde hair was curled in ringlets or pulled back into a ponytail, revealing the dark cases of black eyeliner pressed against her eyelids and the skinny black frames of her glasses, in which she took a liking to wearing again. It was evident that the blonde woman liked wearing the color black, for she had on black riding boots over her black leggings and a black leather jacket that revealed the warm cotton material of Emma's maroon sweater. Neal's knees buckled at the sight of his wife everyday and always thought her appearance was hauntingly mystifying.

"Come on, guys," Emma complained, glancing over at her daughter, who was playing with her teddy bear.

Milah looked up at her mother and, where her usual smile was placed, was clouded by a frown. "Mommy," she peeped.

Emma bent down to face her daughter and asked, "What's up, kid?"

"I'm hun'gee," Milah answered sullenly.

"Me too, kid, me too," Emma groaned, banging her head against the door. "Knowing Papa and Henry, it'll be years before they come out, ready to go,"

Milah shook her head and ticked her teeth together, "_Boys_," she reprimanded.

Emma smiled and crossed her arms. "Tell me about it,"

Nearly twenty minutes later, Neal hustled Henry out of his bedroom, a book in hand, and placed Milah on his back, parading his family towards the bug. Henry climbed into the back seat, complaining that he was too tall to be sitting with his knees pressed up against the brown leather seats, while still reading his endless book. Neal buckled Milah into her car seat, and was about to close the door when a little hand tugged on his jacket. "You fur'got to buckle in Teddy," Milah said as she sucked on her thumb.

Neal smiled at his daughter and took the outstretched bear in his hand, shoving the seat belt across the animal's plush fur and buckling it into the holder next to Henry. "All done," Neal said, slamming the door to Milah's said shut with a thud. Climbing into the car, Neal sped off to his in-laws house, hoping beyond belief that his family would make it through the night without using a single speck of magic, criticism, or arguing.

* * *

Without bothering to knock, Emma stormed into Mary Margaret and David's apartment with Milah clinging to her waist.

Throughout the car ride, Milah's non-stop chatter about her teddy bear drove Henry mad, allowing him to break the belief that Neal had in mind of not using magic. Henry loves his sister, but at times, like all siblings, he wanted to strangle her. Using his sparkling blue magic, Henry muted his sister's mouth with a swish of his hand. Milah began kicked her father's seat and mumbling through her magic-induced mouth. To end the frustration, Emma used her own magic, in which she had learned to use, to make her daughter speak again. Milah pouted the rest of the way to her grandparent's house, refusing to talk to her brother, and staying by Emma's side. As Emma went inside the apartment to separate Milah from her brother, Neal stayed outside and lectured Henry.

"Nice to see you, too," Mary Margaret snorted, turning away from the boiling pot of water on the stove to face her daughter and granddaughter.

Emma held up her hand and snarled, "Don't even start with me," Giving one last look towards her mother, Emma bent down to face Milah. "Kid, can you please stop with your attitude and put a smile on that beautiful face?"

Milah averted her gaze with Emma's and stared at the metal staircase, swinging her teddy bear back and forth. She said nothing for a few minutes, letting the silence consume the three girls in the room, until she cracked a small smile that eventually grew as Emma tickled her daughter's tiny stomach. It was a skill that Neal and Emma used to get Milah to smile and be her usual self, a skill that always worked like a charm.

"Mama," Milah said, between giggles. "I love you,"

Emma stopped and smiled at her daughter. "I love you, too. Now, go somewhere and find Grandpa," As Milah climbed up the stairs leading towards the loft, calling out 'Marco!' on the way, Emma turned back towards her mother and slumped down on the nearest bar stood. She saw that Mary Margaret was smiling, trying her best to hide it behind her sleeve. "What?" Emma asked.

Mary Margaret wiped the smile off of her pale face and shook her head, digging through the drawers to find a spoon. "Nothing," the princess chuckled.

"_What?_" Emma demanded again, but her mother said nothing to ease Emma's mind. "I swear if you don't tell me what the hell your thinking-,"

"I just never thought I'd hear or see you be so... motherly," Mary Margaret retorted, stirring the boiling water and adding uncooked pasta into the pot. To change the subject, Mary Margaret questioned, "Hey, where's Henry and Neal?"

Emma groaned, wondering why her mother had to ask that question, even staying on the topic of Emma and her motherly side would have been much more satisfying than to have Mary Margaret ask about Henry and his misuse of magic. "Long story," Emma opted to say. "They'll be in shortly." Mary Margaret turned away from the pasta to look at Emma, the puzzle pieces registering in her brain.

She pointed the spoon at Emma and stated, "Milah and Henry fought, someone used magic, which that someone is probably Henry, Milah got upset, you had to be Super Mom again and save the day, meanwhile Neal's talking to Henry, and you had to calm down Milah. Did I get it all?"

Emma stared incredulously at Mary Margaret. "You forgot to add that Milah started kicking Neal's seat with her mouth muted shut,"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mary Margaret apologized, turning back towards the pasta. "I hope you guys are hungry. David's wanted me to make mac and cheese, and I can't remember if Milah, Henry, and Neal liked that?"

"They'll eat anything you put in front of them," Emma remarked. Before Mary Margaret could utter another word, Henry thundered into the apartment, muttered a 'Hi, Gran' to Mary Margaret, and ran up the metal stairs towards the nearest silent room. Neal trailed, hanging his head like a bloodhound, into the apartment soon after Henry and shut the door behind him. "I'm guessing it went well," the blonde joked, kissing Neal's lips as he joined next to his wife.

Neal hung onto the kiss for a long time, capturing the magic that flew through their bodies. Emma smiled as their lips pressed together and savored the moment. If not for her mother standing by, watching, Emma would have drew Neal closer. "As good as it ever gets," Neal mumbled after breaking apart reluctantly from the kiss. "especially with him,"

Debating whether she should ask, Mary Margaret opened her mouth and inquired to Neal, "What happened?"

He held his head in his hands and replied, "Would you like a summary or a play-by-play?"

"Summary," Mary Margaret and Emma said at once.

Neal sighed and shrugged, "I yelled at Henry for using magic, because Emma and I agreed that we wouldn't let the kids use magic around the house, on family members, or ordinary citizens, Henry yelled at me for some reason, and then I yelled at Henry again, grounded him, and told them that he would have to say he's sorry to his sister when he came into the apartment, which," Neal paused to catch his breath, looking up at the loft while doing so, "I'm assuming he didn't do."

"Wow," Mary Margaret gaped. "Those are real parenting techniques,"

Neal raised his eyebrows and said, "Yeah, well, I'm not going to let Henry use magic on his three year old sister. If I didn't ground him, do something, anything, then he's just going to think that using magic on other people is fine, regardless of what Emma and I set up as a house rule," he took a deep breath and cleared his thoughts, allowing his mind to escape the world for a moment. "Damn, sometimes being a parent sucks," Neal muttered once returning to earth.

* * *

Once the heavenly mac and cheese began to crisp in the oven, the smell drifted upwards, pulling David and Milah out of their game of hide and go seek. They came down the stairs, as if pulled by a rope, and slandered towards the mac and cheese dish, gawking at it through the peep hole in the oven door, their mouths drooling.

The smell rose inside Milah and David's nostrils, amusing Emma, Mary Margaret, and Neal as they watched the family members yearn for the delicious food. It wasn't until Milah touched the door of the oven that Emma and Neal kicked into over-protective parenting mode and screamed, "Milah!" The three year old felt the heat burn into her skin and she recoiled back, hurt, tears filling her eyes.

Neal quickly looked over at Emma and they both rose from their seats, running to where the daughter was standing, looking at her burned hand, willing the tears not to escape. "Ouchy," Milah cried, holding her hand in front of her as it stung. Neal grabbed Milah by the waist and dragged her to the kitchen sink, while Emma snatched a Band-Aid from her mother's supply cabinet and unpeeled it from the wrapper.

"Peanut, I want you to listen to me, the water's gonna sting, but I know you'll be brave, right?" Neal cooed, feeling the cold water steadily drip onto his skin.

"Neal, hurry up and put her damn hand under the sink! To hell with words of wisdom!" Emma seethed, holding the Band-Aid in her hand tightly.

Milah, forgetting about her burning hand, turned to face her mother, bewilderment creasing her face. "Ooh, Mama said bad words," she taunted, sticking her tongue out at Emma. Neal took the time of Milah's distracted mind to stick her hand under the water, watching as it soaked up the burn wound. Milah flinched, but did not take her eyes off of Emma. The blonde woman exhaled and pressed the bandage onto Milah's tiny hand.

Neal kissed the Band-Aid and asked, "All better?"

"All better," Milah confirmed.

"Thank God for Papa Bear," Emma sighed.

Within the next few minutes, Henry was called downstairs to the dinner table, where Mary Margaret, David, Neal, and Emma, securing Milah's booster seat, waited, begging for their mouths to taste the scrumptious mac and cheese. The fourteen year old averted his gaze with his father and took a seat next to David, as far away from Milah as possible.

Mary Margaret smiled at the completed family dinner and began spooning out the meal, placing an extra helping on everyone's plate. David, through bites of mac and cheese, whispered to Henry, "It was a good choice you didn't sit next to your sister,"

Henry shoved his mouth full of his dinner and smirked sideways at his grandfather. "Why?" he murmured back, dumping heaps of food into his mouth and savoring the buttery taste.

"Because I don't want to see her head pop off from a little magic gone wrong, if you know what I mean," David replied, wiping his face with a napkin. At the far end of the table, Emma looked up to see her son stifle a laugh, and thought nothing of it, returning back to helping make sure her daughter's food went into her mouth, rather than onto her jeans.

"Well, I'll mind my magic, if she minds hers," Henry snorted, feeling the gooey cheese trickle up his nose. The fourteen year old winced and swallowed, the cheese floating back down to his throat- where it belonged.

The rest of the table was silent, burying their faces with food, as if they hadn't eaten in days, maybe weeks. Milah happily clapped her hands together as the sticky pasta stuck to her skin, and Neal reached over to his daughter's side and muttered, scraping it away quickly. Emma barely looked up at her mother, who was eyeing the blonde woman carefully, and continued to eat her dinner, like it was her last. "If I'd known you'd all eat like vultures, I would have made more mac and cheese. Neal, do you even cook at home?" Mary Margaret questioned

Emma stopped, her spoon raised to her mouth, and laughed, followed by the cheerfully giggles of Milah, and the snickering from Henry. Neal opened his mouth, appalled, hurt, and confused, and he turned to ask a basic question that needed to be answered, "What's wrong with my cooking?"

Milah and Henry met each other's eyes, but quickly tore them away, and Emma muted her laughter. "I'm sorry, but you can't cook, babe," the blonde woman inferred. "What you call food is an offensive remark towards this mac and cheese,"

"Oh, yeah?" Neal threatened, a smile hinting at his lips. "At least I don't-," he paused to think of a comeback, but all ideas eluded his mind. "I've got nothing,"

Emma turned back to her food and raised her eyebrows. "Didn't think so,"

David licked his plate clean and brought it to the sink, rinsing it under water and pouring soap over the white surface. Soon after, Henry was finished with his dinner as well, and leaned back against his chair, rubbing his full stomach contently. He eyed the left over mac and cheese, which stood lonely in the dish, waiting to be eaten, and Emma had to remind herself that since Henry was a teenager, he could eat whatever he wanted and not gain a single pound. But, the fourteen year old decided not to eat the sticky goodness, and instead rested his head against the chair.

Neal, noticing that Henry was not going to shove his face full of food anymore, cleared his throat and said, "Henry, can you take that to the sink, please? It makes no difference if your at your grandparent's house, you have to clear your place,"

"Why do that," Henry began, his eyes still closed. "when you can use magic?" Pointing his finger towards the sink, Henry made the plate in front of him levitate in thin air. Gaining concentration and blocking out the anger that left his parent's mouths, the fourteen year old made the plate float to the sink, where the water began running and the soap began bubbling. The dish washed itself, without a single touch from Henry.

"We can use magic now?!" Milah squealed, hoping out of her chair. She lifted her hands in front of her, signaling them to her feet, and felt herself rise higher and higher as her focus increased. "I'm flying!" the three year old exclaimed, whirling around the room, despite what her parents called.

Emma jumped from her chair and yelled, "Henry! What did Neal tell you about using magic?!" The dish in her son's hand instantly dropped onto a pile of towels, dirty with oil, cheese, and grease. For the moment, the fourteen year old seemed to coward back, but his concentration was enriched for a second time and he produced a shield in front of him, which guarded his body.

Milah, zipping back and forth, reached down for her teddy bear and placed it onto her back, before extending her arms and soaring through the apartment. David and Neal called for the three year old to come down, but, seeing as how their voices were doing no good, the two grown men raised their arms and grabbed up for their family member, failing to retrieve her.

Meanwhile, as Henry relaxed in his shield, Emma grumbled to herself and waved her hand in front of her, time stopping instantly. Inside the bubble Henry was in, time ticked by, while Milah, David, Neal, and Mary Margaret stood still, frozen. With her hand still extended in front of her body, Emma created a shield around herself and stepped into Henry's domain.

She placed her hands on her hips and, annoyed, questioned, "Really? Was it necessary to use magic to do a simple task even after Neal lectured you not to, and we established a house rule that we wouldn't allow it around family? Does anything we taught you to do stay in your head? Do you even care what we say?"

"Of course," Henry answered, his smile fading. "I just don't like-,"

"To be told what to do?" Emma finished, flabbergasted. "It doesn't matter, Henry. We're your parents and we have the right to tell you what you can and can not do. When your older and you have a family, you can make your own decisions, but right now you have to obey Neal and me. Is that clear?"

Henry looked at his mother, his face clouding like it used to all those years ago, as an eleven year old. "Yes,"

Emma did not smile, instead she was worried, worried about how her son could have had the intentions to use magic when they had insinuated the fact that the crutch it was would not be tolerated in their family. "Good, now could you please disable your Goddamn shield? Being inside two is getting a little claustrophobic for me to handle,"

"As long as you fix the time continuum," Henry replied, swiping his hands in front of him, the shield disintegrating in front of him. Emma did the same movements and, within a second, everyone was back as it was before, screaming on the top of their lungs at Milah. They jumped up, barely grasping the girl by her blue pocket tee-shirt, and called her name several times.

Emma muttered under her breath and cleared her throat, crossing her arms in front of her as she stared up at Milah. "Milah, get down here on the count of three," the blonde hissed in her calmest voice. "One," Milah ignored her mother and continued to fly around the ceiling, but Neal, David, and Mary Margaret stopped their grabbing and watched Emma. "Two," Emma said, keeping her cool, as Milah glanced back at her mother and saw The Look. It was a look of pure anger and annoyance, a look that could turn someone to stone if stared at for long periods of time. As the blonde opened her mouth to say three, Milah hurried down to the ground and landed with a soft thud.

Neal scooped her up in his arms and looked at her pointedly in the face. "You, Milah, are not allowed to use magic, you know that, right?"

"Yes, Papa," came Milah's small voice.

"Then why did you use it?" Neal asked as Emma pushed Henry away from the father-daughter moment. Mary Margaret and David looked over their shoulders as they brought the rest of the dishes to the sink, watching Neal ever-so skillfully reprimand his daughter.

Milah shrugged and looked down at the floor. "'Cause Hen'we used it," she replied.

Neal sighed and put his large hands on Milah's tiny shoulders. "That doesn't make it all right for you to use it. Remember Mama and I told you not to use magic- ever- only in a case of emergency?" he bore his eyes into Milah's, searching them.

"Yes, Papa," Milah repeated, meeting Neal's gaze.

Giving a small smile, Neal concluded, "Okay, then. You wouldn't do it again, will you, Peanut?"

"No, Papa," she replied, swinging her teddy bear by her side.

Neal knew not to let his daughter off the hook with using magic, so as she skipped away without a single hesitation, Neal took her by the arm and stopped her. Milah turned her head around and glanced at Neal's firm grip on her arm, having a faint idea of what was to come. "Eh, eh, Peanut, your not going to get away with what you did," he told his daughter. "You are going to be in time out tomorrow for an hour," Emma's head shot up from where it was banging against the granite counter top.

Every family member knew that Milah loathed time out, and why Neal had decided to use that form of punishment on her was beyond comprehension. "No, Papa!" Milah cried, shaking her head, not wanting to bear the fact she couldn't play with her toys for sixty whole minutes.

"Would you like me to make it even longer?" Neal questioned, bending down to face his daughter again.

"No, Papa," Milah said again, closing her mouth as if Henry had muted it.

Neal nodded curtly and shuffled Milah off to her grandmother, who sat her up on the counter and gossiped with her. Emma trailed up to her husband with Henry at her side, clutching the cuffs of his button down plaid shirt. "Well, that was, uh, unexpected," Emma growled.

"Good," Neal grinned, placing a kiss on Emma's lips and a pat on Henry's shoulders. "Grounded, Kid, a week,"

Mimicking his sister, Henry rolled his eyes and peeped, "Yes, Papa,"


	2. Take that!

**A/N: Hello, readers and writers! To begin, I would like to personally thank each of you for reading, commenting, and/or following my story, ****_The Many Adventures of the Cassidy Family_****. You guys are amazing, if you haven't realized that. Anyways, I decided not to come up with an overall plan for this chapter, instead to let my fingers do the typing. Just to let everyone know, I'm not planning on making the chapters connect, but if they do, that's fine. **

**Wait, one last thing! To Amelia, who reviewed for my previous chapter, I guess my muse died for a little while last year and I wanted nothing more to do with all the stories I posted, so I deleted them. I can't tell you how much of a mistake that was! I'm not sure if I will continue with _Life is Full of Surprises_, but if I get asked to, I might do it. You never know... **

* * *

It was late one Monday night, the moonlight peeking through the lace white curtains, while a soft breeze blew around in the bedroom. It was chilly, but not too cold for it to be uncomfortable, chilly enough for Emma to feel the need to curl up in Neal's arms, a smile on her face, as they slept together. All was quiet in the Cassidy house, Henry nestled under the covers in his room, piles of books sprawled on the floor, whereas in Milah's room, puzzles and toys crowded the corners. But Milah was not resting peacefully as the toy army men were, instead she was tossing and turning, weeping and crying out, in her little quit covered bed.

She had been having the same dream for nights, now, the same one over and over again. The three year old was taken away from her grandparents, brother, and parents with a grab of a shadowy charcoal hand. It had no flesh, only a see through material that made chills crawl up your spines. And it's eyes, mere holes, glowed in the light. In the background of her dream, more like nightmare, Milah heard screaming and crying, piercing, all poking empty voids in her heart. The shadow figure reached out, it's hand extending to reach Milah's body even as she backed away, and the three year old shook her head, tears absorbing into her cheeks.

The hand, strong willed, grabbed Milah by the waist and dragged her towards the charcoal body, allowing it to consume her and make her part of the cursed oblivion shadow. The three year old screamed louder than anyone surrounding her and squeezed her eyes shut as the figure sucked her towards him. Milah felt as if all hope was lost, and the glow in her usual bright eyes disintegrated.

Milah then woke up, crying, kicking the sheets around her.

* * *

As Milah crawled into her parent's bedroom, her heart was pounding against her chest. She couldn't forget the life-ending figure that wanted to drag her away from her home, her family, the people that made her feel whole. But the three year old clutched her teddy bear closer to her chest and climbed up onto Emma and Neal's bed, stopping just for a moment to watch their chest's rise and fall. Emma looked peaceful, and Neal held her tightly, their love connecting and creating a pulse unlike any other- true love. Milah smiled and felt as if everything was okay in her life, but then looked over her shoulder towards the flowing curtains and caught a glimpse of the window. The three year old whimpered and pressed her lips close to Neal's ear.

"Papa," she whispered, frightened. Neal groaned and pulled Emma closer to his body, wanting to feel her pale skin caress against his own. He did not wake up or swat the girl away. "Papa," Milah said again, a little louder this time. Neal was still undisturbed, but swatted his hand in Milah's direction, out of reflex. Milah raised her voice and screamed, "Papa!"

Neal flew up from his position in the bed and Emma was dropped onto her pillow, making her wake up from the movement. The man blinked and looked around the room, finally registering in his brain that his daughter, his Milah, was sitting in front of him, her nightgown flowing around her body, with a scared expression on her face. Neal instantly felt the need to erase all pain his daughter was feeling. "What's going on, Peanut?" Neal asked, squinting his eyes.

Emma sat up, glanced at the clock, and flopped back down onto the pillow. "It's two thirty in the morning, Milah,"

"I know, Mama," Milah answered softly, surprising Emma immensely. Usually, if not for the nightmares, Milah was always asleep, passed out, until noon time, maybe later on most days, taking her time to catch up on sleep the days she did not have pre-school.

Emma sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "Then why are you in our bedroom, at two thirty in the morning, looking like you saw a ghost?" she asked grouchily.

Milah frowned and toyed with the ends of her blonde hair. "Because I did see a ga'host," Neal glanced at Emma and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He didn't know if Emma knew about the nightmares Milah had shared with him, and he didn't want his wife to worry any more about Milah as she did already. Neal and Milah shared a special relationship, like most families, and Milah felt like she could tell her father anything. He acted like her best friend, and the three year old liked it that way. "In my d'weams I did,"

"Kid, didn't I tell you to write them down on paper so you wouldn't have to wake us up in the middle of the night and scare us half to death?" Neal relayed, thinking back to the journal he hid on Milah's bedside table after he tucked her in every night. It was a leather bound notebook, a treasure he found from his father's shop one day while stocking the shelves, with words carved into the cover, yet he couldn't make out what they said.

"But, but this d'weam was worse than the o'ders," she protested, shaking her head back and forth so that her pigtails whipped around her head. Emma kissed her daughter on the forehead and mumbled something under her breath before falling back to sleep without even a single word to her husband. But Neal knew that Emma took care of the kids during the days, and the least he could do was make sure Milah fell back to sleep all right.

Neal peeled back the flannel covers and took Milah's outstretched hand. He let her led him out of his warm bedroom, away from his yearning wife, towards the hallway, a bubble of chilly air waiting to rear it's ugly face in Neal and Milah's direction. Leading her down the hallway to where Milah's room was situated, Neal asked gently, "Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?"

Milah said nothing, instead she climbed back into her bed and snuggled under the covers. With one hand, she grabbed her teddy bear, and with the other, she patted the spot next to her for her father. Neal laid down against the small bed that was too small for him, and his feet dangled off the side. He leaned against his arm, which was cradling his head like a pillow, and listened to Milah's tale. "It was like all the o'ders," she whispered sadly. "The one with the shadowy figure taking me at night,"

"You don't have to worry, Milah, Papa's here. I won't let anything take you," Neal reassured, squeezing his daughter's trembling hand as she recoiled next to her father. The three year old pressed her head against Neal's chest and listened to his heart beat at a normal rate each second, it's sound soothing to her. Neal smiled down at his daughter, his eyes closing under the heavy lull of sleep, stroked his hand against Milah's soft hair, and relaxed.

"Do you promise?" Milah asked tiredly, yawning, the wee hours of the morning taking it's toll on her.

Neal nodded and felt his mind drift out of consciousness. "I promise," he mumbled, before falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Neal woke up with a screaming ache in his back and his body hanging halfway on the floor. Taking back all the nasty swears he sometimes thought of while sleeping in his own bed, the bed that fit his size, Neal climbed off of the floor, stretched and glanced over to Milah's figure, sprawled over the covers, her mouth open, while drool escaped. She slept just like Emma.

It was six o'clock on a Monday morning, and, as much as Emma liked her sleep, she was up, staring into space with a mug of coffee burning into her palms. As Neal retreated down the stairs, running a hand through his hair, Emma snapped out of her daze and blinked twice, her green eyes shining. "Missed you last night,"

Neal grinned through the bags that rested under his eyes as he made his coffee. "I missed you more," he said, his voice sounding foreign to him. He cleared his throat, while retreating towards the kitchen table, and slumped into the seat next to Emma, placing a kiss on her head. "Even this chair is more comfortable than the bed I slept on last night," he mused, sipping his hot liquid.

"Yeah, well, it's the perks of being a parent- staying up at night to make sure our kid gets some sleep," Emma replied, yawning, hoping that Henry would be getting up soon. She wanted to try to get her kids to school on time that day, but mornings in the Cassidy household were not always pleasant ones. As if hearing her silent pleas, the shower in the down stairs bathroom squeaked on and Emma exhaled- Henry was up.

Neal looked like a zombie, Emma observed. He looked out of the world, not registering that he was spilling his coffee all over his white tee-shirt, while his hair was sticking up in all places, and the knots in his shoulders whenever he seemed to move grew more intense just sitting, _not_ moving. The dark spots under his eyes created an undead look, which completed the 'zombie effect'. "I just hopes she gets over these nightmares," Neal said softly.

Emma pushed back her chair and brought her mug to the sink, fully dressed and ready to leave. Aside from her normal black clothing, Emma was wearing dark blue jeans, a black and gray sweater and the notorious red leather jacket she seemed to take a liking to. Her blonde hair was down, flowing past her shoulders, straight and beautiful with it's layers that glowed in the kitchen light. The makeup she wore, her usual black eyeliner, was seen through her black glasses. "She will, Neal. Kids get nightmares all the time and they manage to grow out of them," Emma responded. "I know I did," she added with a roll of her eyes.

"You, have nightmares?" Neal joked, stalking up to where Emma stood. The blonde woman wrapped her arms around her husbands neck and smiled a breath-taking smile. "Since when?"

"Since I was a kid," Emma explained, going in to no further details. "But they're gone now, so, evidently, you grow out of them, as I did," she swayed from side to side and felt Neal place his hands on Emma's waist. Down the hall, the bathroom water shut off abruptly, seam rising from under the opening in the door, and the lock turned. Henry emerged with a towel around his bare chest and jeans on his long legs. Emma smiled as Neal dove into a kiss, ignoring his son's tapping feet as they drew nearer to the kitchen.

It was until Henry screamed, "GROSS, GUYS! GET A ROOM!" that Neal and Emma were pulled away from the magnetic connection.

Emma kissed Neal on his cheek one last time, before grabbing her sheriff badge off of the counter and plucking it on her waist band. "Good morning to you, too, Kid," the blonde snickered, walking towards the front door. "Want a ride to school?"

Henry nodded, grabbed an opened Pop-Tart from Neal's hand, and stole a sweatshirt from the coat hooks by the front door. "Let's go," he said, agitated by the revolting image of his parents kissing that stuck in his mind like a sore thumb.

"Neal, you mind watching Milah today? She doesn't have pre-school this morning," Emma asked over her shoulder, the front door halfway closed.

Neal groaned and banged his head against the counter top. Today was his day off and he thought that if Emma took Milah with her to the sheriff station, he could finally get some quiet time to himself, quiet time that included watching reruns of his favorite television show, stuffing his face full of popcorn, chugging down a couple of cans of beer, and sleeping until Emma and his kids returned home that night. "No," he said through a false sweet voice.

Emma closed the rest of the door and Neal heard her muffled reply of, "Thanks!" as she left the building.

* * *

Neal never thought he would be in this situation. He never thought he would be faced with a challenge like this before, a challenge that was truly mystifying and somewhat frown-upon.

Watching Emma whip her own blonde hair into a perfect ponytail seemed like a snap of her fingers, but, with a black elastic in his hand, Neal had no idea how to wrap Milah's hair into an equally perfect ponytail like Emma's. He stretched the elastic in his hand and pursed his lips, while Milah stared up at him expectantly. They had made it this far, thus, a simple ponytail wouldn't be hard to master, would it?

Getting Milah dressed was a very complicated task, the most inevitable question of which color shirt to wear boiling to the seams. They had decided on the green and purple striped shirt, in which it formed to Milah's small body successfully. All the while of tying the laces of Milah's black high tops and zippering a hoodie to match the shirt, Neal yawned and wished that he could take a nap. But when he was about to leave Milah's room to grab clean sheets for her bed, Milah tugged on his tee-shirt and held the elastic in front of him, waking him up completely.

"Papa, you have ta put my hair in a 'onytail, just like Mama's," the three year old had said, her eyes staring at him expectantly.

Neal simply nodded and took the elastic in his hand, stretching it in his fingers. He grabbed the black brush that sat on top of Milah's chest of drawers and pushed his daughter's blonde hair back so that he could reach across and easily hold it in his hand, preparing himself to tie the band around it. When he stepped back to look at his work, Milah giggled and shrugged.

The ponytail Neal tried to attempt was lopsided, with hair not even held in the elastic. "We have ta work on it," Milah concluded, running her hand along her somewhat ponytail. "Practice makes perfect, right, Papa? That's what Mama says,"

Neal smiled, "Mama's right, Peanut," he took Milah by her hand and led her to the hallway. "I have an idea, why don't you help me clean up the house a bit and then we'll go see Red and Granny at the diner? I think they'd love to see you,"

Jumping up and down in excitement, Milah helped her father open the blinds in Henry and Emma's bedrooms, scrub the dishes with soapy water that eventually ended up on Neal and his array of stubble, and fold the beds, which the three year old, no longer containing herself, jumped on, wrinkling the neatly folded sheets. While working on the household chores, Milah whistled and hummed, like a little bird, and Neal felt his sleep-induced coma ward off. "Whistle while you 'ork," Milah sang with a smirk, jumping up and down, wishing that the housework was done so she and her father could have an adventure together.

"Okay, Peanut, you ready to go?" Neal asked once everything was done and sparking, in the bright Maine sunlight that streamed into the kitchen windows. Milah nodded enthusiastically and whipped her jacket from the coat hook. She slipped it on and pointed to Neal's leather jacket.

"Just like Mama's," Milah chirped, toying with the sleeve.

Neal took it off the hook, slipped it on over his white tee-shirt, and took Milah's hand in his, clutching it tightly. "Let's go have some fun," Neal exclaimed.

* * *

The father-daughter duo entered the diner, a retro hangout complete with red patent leather booths, chrome rimmed tables, a juke box, and an old fashioned clock, which showed the time as ten o'clock. Neal didn't know that getting a three year old dressed and finishing chores would take up so much time. But, his mind was blocked when he held open the door for little Milah and led her into the diner, the citizen's of Storybrooke smiling cheerfully as Milah and Neal passed through.

Neal placed his hand on Milah's shoulder and looped their way towards the back of the diner, where Red was skillfully balancing a tray in her right hand, topped with steaming mugs, and yelling at the cooks through the server's window. "Come on, sweetie," Neal instructed to Milah, holding her hand and stopping in front of the waitress.

Red whirled around and Milah and Neal were greeted with the bright, white smile of the girl-turned werewolf. She was a haunting type of girl, with endless streaks of red in her brown hair, just the right amount of makeup, and fur lined clothes that were soft to the touch. "Well, well, if it isn't my favorite girl," Red chided, dropping her tray to allow Milah to jump into her arms. "Hi, Milah," she mumbled into the little girl's shoulder.

"Hi," Milah replied, backing away from Red to hold hands with her father again. It was an immensely cute moment, Milah hanging on to Neal for what seemed like dear life, and if Red had a camera, she would have savored the moment forever.

Neal gave Red a wave with his loose hand. "We came to visit," he clued the waitress. "Well, not really to visit, but to get some insanely good hot chocolate," Milah nodded even though she didn't under stand much of what Neal was saying. What only mattered to her was two words- hot chocolate. Granny's diner made the best hot chocolate, and, carrying on a family quirk, Milah liked hers best with whipped cream and cinnamon. "And to see you, of course," Neal added.

Red signaled for a cook to boil a pot of water with a flick of her wrist and she then turned back to Milah and surveyed her. "Wait a second, are you on Daddy patrol?" she asked playfully.

"How'd you know?" Neal questioned curiously, wrinkling his eyebrows together.

The waitress pulled Milah closer to her, untied her ponytail, and brushed the blonde hair back in her hands. "Because I can see the sucky work of 'Neal Cassidy' written all over Milah's ponytail," Within an instant, Milah's ponytail was picture perfect, mirroring the way Emma usually had hers. It was slicked back, yet enchanting with the floppy side bangs covering a small portion of Milah's eyes. "And, because your all alone, which means Emma asked you to watch the kid,"

Milah smiled gratefully at the waitress and hooked herself back on to Neal's leg. "Right on the dot," Neal congratulated, tucking Milah's bangs behind her ear. He looked over at the Red and concluded, "Emma should probably be coming by the diner for her annual coffee break,"

"As always," Red smiled, winking in Milah's direction. "What are you and Milah planning to do today?"

Neal and Milah glanced at each other, both unsure. But, suddenly, a thought came to the three year old's mind. "Can we sword fight? P'wease, Papa? You promised!" Ever since Milah had seen Henry and Neal battle with wooden swords and metal swords, the three year old wanted more than ever to do the same and follow in her brother's and mother's footsteps. She felt the need to do it.

Ruby looked at Neal for his answer, in which he reluctantly gave in to. "All right, all right, fine, we'll sword fight,"

"It seems you know what your doing today now," Ruby joked, retrieving two cups of hot chocolate from the counter and handing them to Milah and Neal. "Be careful, they're hot," she informed and trailed off to the front of the diner.

Father and daughter marched to an available booth and slumped down into the seats. Neal smiled over his mug as Milah, kicking her legs against the back of the booth's wooden plank that held the seat up, dabbed her nose with whipped cream without knowing it. Steam from the chocolate rose into the air and melted the whipped cream, but it lay on Milah's nose like a pile of mushy snow. Neal plunked his pointer finger into the whipped cream sitting on top of his own cup and tapped Milah's nose with it. There, on the bridge of her pale nose, a nose that resembled Emma's, sat a new pile of whipped cream.

"Papa!" Milah squealed, giggling and whipping her nose, though doing no good.

Neal reached over, a napkin in hand, and cleaned the three year old up. Before he could register what was happening, Milah's arm swiveled towards Neal's cup, like a snake and dripped her finger in the whipped cream. She retreated her arm from the mug and, without a second's hesitation, pressed the whipped cream on her father's nose, matching her's just a minute ago.

"Hey!" Neal cried, "No fair," he pouted as if he was the three year old, while Milah doubled up, clutching her stomach, laughing.

Catching on to Milah's laughter, Neal joined in, with more whipped cream resting on his finger. As Milah was falling over on the booth's seat, tempering her giggle fit, Neal artfully placed the whipped cream in a little pile on her rosy cheeks and on her nose, making Milah look like a snowman completely. Neal snorted and began laughing, almost so hard as to cough up his hot chocolate, but stopped as Milah's mouth opened wide, in awe. She dipped her finger into Neal's cup again, soaked her finger in the whipped cream, and blew it in front of her, catching on to Neal's skin in little dots that made it look as if he had the chicken pox.

Milah kindheartedly drank the rest of her hot chocolate, proud of her revenge on her father. "We need more whipped cream," Milah concluded as she polished off her mug.

"Oh, no, Peanut, no more whipped cream!" Neal exclaimed in mock surrender. He took a napkin from it's holder on the side of the table and rubbed it across his face, clearing away the sticky goodness. Then, grabbing a clean napkin, crossed to the other side of the booth and cleaned off his daughter's beautiful face. Neal gave Milah a kiss on her forehead, the whipped cream's sweet smell wafting up his nose. "Ready for some sword fighting?" Neal asked soon after Milah's face was clean.

The three year old sprang from the booth and dragged her father with her. While Neal dug through his pockets for money for the hot chocolate, Milah extended her arms for Neal to take. Once digging up change, Neal slapped the money on the table and boosted Milah in his arm, so that her legs were gripping around Neal's waist.

* * *

Neal used real, genuine, metal swords to practice sword fighting with Henry, mainly because the kid was an excellent sword fighter, and also because Neal could trust Henry with a sharp sword. Henry's favorite blade was the one Emma had used during her trip to Neverland, the blade that was originally Neal's, passed to Emma, and now used by Henry. It was silver and shiny, surprising now that it was a decade or so old, rather pointy, and carefully crafted. It was small, but not too small, for it fit to Henry's body like a glove.

For Milah, Neal insisted on using a wooden sword. Trusting a three year old with a metal blade, for one, was not something Neal could easily glob on to. Instead, Neal used the wooden sword Henry had used to train on, the wooden sword that David had bought at the drug store one night after returning from running the town after Emma and Snow had fallen in the swirling green portal. It was heroic enough, what with the blade that looked to be very sharp, when, in reality, it was dull. The sword had a thick leather strap that was worn from the many uses of Henry's hands, but Milah didn't mind.

The blade looked increasingly too big for Milah to hold, but she managed to use her tiny arms to hold the wooden sword up, never backing down. It was then that Neal saw the fighter inside his daughter, the fighter that resembled much too much like Emma. "So," Neal sighed, grabbing his own wooden sword, covered in cobwebs, from off the stand. "are you ready to begin?" he asked with his back turned.

Milah, her hand tightly gripped to the wooden handle, lunged forward at the tree in front of her and whacked it side to side with her blade, pretending to defend it as if it would fight back. Neal turned around and crossed his arms, watching with wonder at how professional Milah looked as she blocked and spun, jumped and twirled, with the old sword in her hand. "Take that!" Milah yelled, stabbing the tip of her blade in to the tree's trunk.

Neal shrugged and dove in to the fake sword battle, jumping to Milah's right as she spun towards her father and slammed the blade into his. Neal smiled and explained, "This is called a block," he began, but Milah spun her sword around and gave a small pinch of her tip into the arm of her father. The older man looked down at his shirt. "So I see you already know what a block is," he muttered. Milah smiled mischievously and hit her sword against Neal's. They began a mini sword fight, Neal clanking his blade against Milah's, while Milah grew tired, even with the weight on her hands and arms so light and airy.

"Do you 'ink sword fighting runs in da family?" Milah asked, her eyes fighting to stay open. She slammed the blade against Neal's and swooped it under so that it connected with his leg. Out of breath, the three year old, threw her sword down and collapsed on the ground.

Neal dropped next to his daughter and cocked his head so that he was watching her as she fell asleep. "Yeah, Kid, I do," Milah smiled as her breath grew even, her chest rising and falling. For a while, Neal laid next to his daughter, never moving a single muscle, and watched her sleep. She was peaceful, out of energy, while the lack of sleep the night before took it's toll on her.

* * *

At four o'clock, Neal decided to bring Milah home. She had not moved from her position on the dewy grass, looking as if she was shot by a wave of extreme exhaustion. He climbed from the ground and threw Milah over his shoulder, propping her as she slept. As he made his daughter comfortable against his shoulder, Neal was careful not to wake her. Taking the swords in one hand, Neal traveled from the park their sword fighting adventure took place and walked home, where Emma and Henry were waiting.

Neal knocked lightly on the front door, and Emma answered in a huff. "What did you do, tranquilize her?" the blonde woman asked, skipping the normal kiss and smile that she always gave when greeting her husband.

"Taught her how to sword fight," Neal said, smiling, and planting a kiss on Emma's lips as he walked into the house and laid Milah on the couch in the living room. "The kid's really light weight, by the way," he added, covering Milah with a fuzzy blanket. "And she's a natural at sword fighting,"

"Everyone is in this family," Emma mumbled, pushing away her daughter's hair as it fell from her ponytail. Neal wrapped his arms around Emma's waist and hugged her tightly into his chest.

Neal kissed Emma's neck again and again, murmuring, "God, I love you," and ignoring what the blonde had said before.

Emma faced her husband, laid a kiss on his lips, and pulled away. "Henry might be watching again,"


	3. Numb From Head to Toe

**A/N: Hello, all! I want to thank you for the great reviews and comments for the previous chapters. If you haven't already checked it out, I have another story- a "spin off" of ****_The Many Adventures of the Cassidy Family_****- that focuses on the Cassidy, Gold, and Charming families vacationing in Disney World. It's called ****_To Infinity and Beyond_****. Enjoy the next chapter of ****_The Many Adventures of the Cassidy Family_****. For further note: I think many families will be able to relate to this...**

* * *

The usual snowy Maine weather was upon the town of Storybrooke, burying the old fashioned cars in mounds of snow, sticking to the window panes, and blowing into the fireplace burning homes. Most of the snow packed against the steps, making them slick and slippery with the freezing temperatures, and smoke wafted it's way up through the brick houses' chimneys, bellowing in the air in a thick cloud of gray.

Neal, getting up earlier than usual, climbed into his snow-gear and grabbed a shovel from the garage. Breaking his back with work, the older man hammered through the many feet of snow to clear a path from the front steps of the house to the driveway. The overall work had taken him a few hours, and once he was inside, absorbed in the heat, Emma and Milah were awake.

"Papa, it's snowing," the three year old exclaimed, jumping onto the couch that overlooked the backyard. She pressed her tiny nose against the glass, cold from the outside, and watched as the snowflakes dropped from the sky. "Can we go out, Papa," Milah asked, turning to face her father, his face red and numb. "Please,"

Emma glanced over at her husband from the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of steaming hot chocolate. Raising her eyebrows to her hairline, the blonde waited impatiently for Neal's answer. "I don't know, Peanut," Neal sighed, stealing a kiss from Emma's lips. It was enough to make him warm, the heat surging through their love creating something worth savoring in. "It's really cold out there,"

Milah scampered over to her father, now sitting at the table. The three year old climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around Neal's neck. Milah's sparkling green eyes were dancing, like Emma's, while also pleading her father for an answer. "Please, Papa," she begged.

Neal looked at his wife, wanting to know her input, but Emma snickered and shook her head, letting him know that she was doing nothing to help him in this situation. "Emma," Neal said, staring at his wife.

"Not helping,"

"Thanks,"

"No problem,"

Milah wrinkled her eyebrows together, confused, while eyeing her mother over her shoulder every few seconds. The three year old settled herself in Neal's lap, placing her pale hand in his. "Well," she persisted, much like Emma.

Neal groaned and slid his feet into his winter boots. "All right, fine, we'll go out," he concluded, winning a smile from his daughter. "But, go get some snow clothes on and wake your brother," Milah scrambled on her knees to give her father a kiss on the cheek, and then jumped to the ground, sliding along the floor in her socks towards her brother's room.

"Have a good time freezing your ass off," Emma said abruptly, getting up from her chair with a skid of rungs of the floor.

"Oh, no you don't," Neal replied in a rush. Quick on his feet, the man grabbed Emma's waist and held it by his side, dangling her from his side. She screamed and swore, kicking her legs and pounding her fists against Neal's fleece coat. "Your coming outside with me and the kids," Neal placed his wife on the ground and faced her, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Emma crossed her arms around her chest and gave Neal a knowing look, a typical Emma look. "And if I don't," she questioned harshly. "What will you do- throw snowballs at me, make me into a snowman," Neal laughed, though tried his best to hide it, while Emma held her ground, not blinking an eye.

Neal studied his wife seeing the very playfulness emerge from beneath her skin. Emma, in truth, wanted to go outside, to play in the snow, and find that her body was numb from the cold- she wanted to make up for the things she never go to do as a kid. Upstairs, Milah scrambled around the hallway, opening and slamming shut drawers, humming loudly to herself, as Henry, now woken up by his sister, retreated from his room like a zombie. "Come on, Em, just come outside," Neal begged, batting his eyelashes. "You know you wanna,"

Emma shook her head, leaning against the granite counter top. "I said no such thing," she replied with a snap. Neal rolled his eyes, not buying what his wife had to say.

"Yeah, well, you're going," Neal decided with a firm nod of his head.

"You can't make me,"

"Yes, I can,"

"No, you can't,"

"Yes,"

"No,"

"Watch me,"

Before Emma could utter a single back-comment, Neal once more picked Emma up in his arms and threw her over his shoulder. Being light weight, it was easy for Neal to hold onto his wife, adjusting her with a few bounces on his toes and a smile that was sewn onto his face. Carrying her upstairs, Neal plopped Emma down onto their bed, dug through the closet, and brought out a fleece jacket and snow boots.

The fleece rubbed against Neal's skin, it's soft texture comforting. "We're matching," Neal smirked, pointing at his own jacket, his navy blue while Emma's was black.

Rolling her eyes, Emma shrugged on her jacket and pushed her feet into her boots. "That just makes everything better," she muttered, lifting her leg and placing it on Neal's knee. "Tie the laces," Emma commanded, nodding towards her dangling boot laces, hitting the side of the bed frame.

"Thanks for askin' so nicely," Neal replied, clearing his throat and, without another protest or comment, bent his head down to tie his wife's laces. "Next one," he said, kicking Emma's right foot off of his knee. Bringing her left foot to a rest on Neal's knee, Emma leaned against the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Once Neal was finished, he looked down at Emma with intensity.

They both were quiet for several minutes, staring off into space, lost in thoughts that seemed to bounce around their heads.

Neal wrinkled his eyebrow in frustration and asked, "Hey, Em," Green eyes met his brown ones, dancing and sparkling in the light shining above. "Did you ever want to go back in time and pretend to be Bonnie and Clyde again,"

"Why the hell are you asking me this _now_," Emma questioned, sitting up on her elbows, her blonde hair dangling behind her like a waterfall. "It's years later, Neal," she added, raising an eyebrow.

Neal slumped onto the bed next to Emma, pulling her into the confines of his chest. "I know, I know, but it was fun. Wouldn't you wanna be a team again," Resting her hand against Neal's warm chest, Emma felt herself relax in his arms, feeling safe and secure. Neal's heart pounded against her hand, it's feeling sparking chills to creep up Emma's spine.

In spite of herself, Emma thought back to when they were a team, a simple team, partners in crime. It was a time of exhilaration and rush, a time she sometimes wished to go back to. Living in the moment, as Neal would say, and Emma wanted to feel what it was like again, to barely have time to process a situation, rather than over think it.

She found that she was smiling as her mind drifted back towards happier days. "Yeah, I guess," Emma finally answered, quietly, as if she didn't want anyone to hear.

"It was fun," Neal stated simply, his voice light and airy.

"It was illegal," Emma refined, looking up at her husband, as she ran her hand over his fleece jacket. "Most of the time,"

Instantly, the door leading into Emma and Neal's bedroom burst open, followed by the bickering of Milah and Henry, each wearing their winter garb. Both kids were yelling at each other, the sound of their voices masking the clanking noise of their snow boots on the wooden floor. "No, I'm on Emma's team," Henry protested, his face blaring red.

Milah shook her head, her eyes balls of fury. "I am," she screamed, placing her hands on her hips, while her face clouded with emotion. The three year old, taking after her mother, wanted to always be right and always get what she wanted, never giving into what her opponent had to say. "I am! I am! I am,"

Emma groaned and rolled back against the bed, letting Neal take care of her children's arguing. "What's going on," Neal asked in a calm voice, overpowering Milah's dainty and high voice, while catching Henry's low and musical voice off guard. Each kid stared up at their father in bewilderment.

It was silent for a few seconds, before Milah and Henry both revealed their argument to their father and mother, who was barely listening. "Me and Hen'wee wanted to have a snowball fight, and we wanted to have teams, and I want Mama on mine, but Hen'wee said he want's Mama on _his_ team, so I told him that I wanted her on _my_ team and that girls should have the first pick, but Hen'wee said that since he's the oldest _he_ should get the first pick!" Milah rambled, her sentences falling together in a jumbled mess.

But Henry raved, "Milah and I wanted to have a snowball fight, and we wanted to have teams, and I want Emma on _mine_, but Milah said she want's Emma on _her_ team, so I told Milah that _I_ wanted Emma, and because _I'm_ the oldest, I should have the first pick, but Milah claimed that because she's a _girl_, she should have the first pick!"

Neal glanced at Emma, her eyes closed tightly shut, while her hand was rubbing her temple. "Not helping," Emma mumbled.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that," Neal snickered over his shoulder. While Neal was talking to his wife, Milah and Henry began to argue again, each screaming, "I want Emma," on the top of their lungs.

It was enough to make Neal's head explode, their voices growing higher and stronger with each press of the argument. Trying his best to stop the fighting, Neal raised his fingers into his mouth, forming a whistle, and blew into it, the wind catching into his makeshift whistle and erupting a blaring screeching sound. It was as bad as nails on a chalkboard, but each kid's attention was grabbed. "The only way to solve this problem is by letting the king of the house decide," Neal stated, Henry and Milah blinking up at him.

"Who, Emma," they both asked in unison.

The blonde, dragged from her lazy position on the bed, smirked at her kid's, proud of their guesses and confinements. Neal, however, rolled his eyes, and replied, "No, she's the queen of the house! _I'm_ the king of the house,"

"But, Dad, being a king means to sword fight like a badass," Henry stated, raising his eyebrows at his father, comparing Neal to David, the king of Storybrooke, a man whose wisdom and drive to fight for the people he cared about overpowering Henry's explanation. In the fourteen year old's mind, Emma fought like David. She protected the people she loved, while destroyed the one's inflicting the pain and suffering. "You don't fight like a badass. You, Dad, are nothing like Emma and Gramps," he added. "Nothing,"

* * *

Outside, the cold, harsh wind whipped in Emma's face, tossing her blonde hair around in the air. Snow was falling from the sky in flurries, while the mounds of ice packed together on the lawn grew taller with each flake. Emma yearned to be inside, in the warm security of her house, but Neal prevented her from doing so. She was a team with him, like their Bonnie and Clyde days, and she couldn't abandon her partner.

It was decided upon Neal to neither grant Milah or Henry the accomplishment of teaming up with Emma, instead the fourteen year old and the three year old were partnered together unwillingly, though each of them had a secret desire to crush their parents in a snowball fight.

"All right," Neal yelled over the rush of the wind, standing next to Emma, her hands placed on her hips. She faced her children, both growing anxious with anticipation and rosy cheeked. "This is going to be a fair game, so no cheating,"

"How can you cheat in a snowball fight," Emma hissed from the side of her mouth.

Neal ignored his wife and continued to preach, "We can use any square inch of the town, but," Narrowing his eyes until they were merely slits, Neal looked at his son. "We all need to look after our team members. There will be no leaving anyone behind. Is that understood,"

Henry rolled his eyes, a look of pure annoyance written in the creases of his face. "Yes," the fourteen year old repeated with a sigh. With his father's words, Henry knew that ditching his sister in the middle of the forest wasn't an option.

"Fine," Emma muttered, ready to get on with the Cassidy snowball fight. "Are we ready,"

Milah, jumping up and down in excitement, nodded, her excitement bubbling inside her. She was ready to take off down the street, without a trace of a plan in her mind, while Henry, thinking back to his operations, had a plan of action forming.

Neal eyed his son and daughter carefully. "On the count of three," he began, intertwining his hand with Emma's. They were ready, both of them, each with a plan bouncing around their heads until it seemed to register in their minds with full intent. "One... two... three,"

At record speed, Neal and Emma took off at a sprint into the deserted streets of Storybrooke, Milah and Henry following close behind. Husband and wife stole sidelong glances at each other, each absorbing the same, inevitable thought- Bonnie and Clyde were together again, and their kids were jumping into the tradition.

* * *

Ducking into an alleyway, Emma pulled Neal with her, wanting to catch her breath and consult with a scheme. A while away, Henry and Milah were quickly making snowballs, each snapping at the other to work faster. Neal, wanting to keep running, was jerked into the alley and slammed against the wall.

"Shh," Emma snapped, placing her finger to Neal's lips as they rested against the brick wall. In the distance, both adults heard their kids arguing with each other, until there was nothing more than feet pounding against the pavement. Oblivious, Henry and Milah ran past the alley Emma and Neal were hidden in, carrying a bundle of snowballs. "They're gone,"

His heart beating wildly, Neal nodded, mute, and retreated from his position against the wall. "What's the plan, Bonnie," he asked, once regaining his breath. "We can either follow them and bury their bodies in snowballs, or..." Neal looked at Emma for her plan, wrinkling his forehead together.

"I was thinking about doing this the old-fashion way," Emma stated in a whisper, a devilish gleam hidden behind her eyes. "We do it like we used to,"

Neal held his breath, putting himself in Emma's shoes. She was always one step ahead, he remembered from their days of the past, and knew never to underestimate her. Finally understanding what Emma was plotting, Neal suggested, "One of us distracts them, while the other throws the snowballs,"

Emma smiled and squeezed Neal's hands. "We just need a good way to distract them,"

They stood in silence, the gears in their heads turning and clicking. "What if you rave about how we're going to kick their butts and get them angry, while I," Neal pointed towards the pile of snow at the end of the alleyway. "throw the snowballs, like you were thinking,"

"Or the other way around," Emma murmured, her mind a world away. "I mean, you could do the distracting, while I throw the snowballs,"

"But you don't have a good aim," Neal replied with a grin and a half-heartily shrug. "You never did," he added, hoping not to offend his wife.

Emma rolled her eyes and answered, "I want to throw," in a fierce tone that left Neal speechless. "You distract and join in on throwing the snowballs after I catch them blind-sighted," It was all Neal could do to nod, not uttering a single world. He didn't want to point out that Emma would miss their targets, their kids, because of her bad aim and nonathletic build, but remained silent. She would learn for herself, Neal figured, but he found out that he was entirely wrong.

* * *

Neal had easily traced Milah and Henry's footsteps to the forest, where the kid's were hurriedly building what looked to be a fort of fallen branches. Being the oldest, Henry bossed Milah and made her work to gather branches for the fort, while the fourteen year old formed and packed the snowballs against a wall of snow and ice.

The forest was silent, with only the sound of the trees swaying the swift breeze sounding. Further away from the fort they were constructing, Henry and Milah spotted smoke drifting from the chimneys, snug and warm. Henry, as he created his snowballs, worked quickly and diligently, glancing up at the smoke every few minutes. He wanted to be consumed in a warm house, drinking hot chocolate, watching a movie with his parents and sister- not freezing to death outside in the cold. It was Milah's idea, her brilliant idea, to go outside, and Henry regretted climbing out of his bed in the morning, wanting to stay cozy within his flannel sheets and pajamas.

In the distance, the fourteen year old heard a crack in the woods echo around him, lulling him out of his thoughts. As an instinct, Henry threw himself onto the ground, bringing Milah with him. "What the-..." Milah squeaked, toppling over a snow mound as Henry pulled her next to him.

"Shh," Henry instructed, holding a finger to his lips. Milah pouted, being her usual stubborn self, and slumped on her knees, peering over the snowbank with her little green eyes. They had yet to notice Emma, sneaking behind them among the trees, but took observation of Neal, climbing on top of a rock in the middle of the forest. From Henry's fort, Neal was easily spotted, yet Neal wasn't able to see Henry or Milah- or so they thought.

Neal waited, crossing his arms, surveying the area, before saying, "I know you're there,_ children_," in a serious voice, a sparkle lighting up in his eyes as he heard a small gasp from behind a snowbank. "Come out and surrender. Make it easy for yourselves,"

There was no answer, instead a large snowball hauled through the air and lunged at Neal, missing him by mere inches. Neal laughed, making it as bone chilling as possible, while behind the snow and fort, Henry and Milah gathered their snowballs and began to prepare to strike their father.

"No? You_ won't_ surrender? I can assure you, children, that your mother and I will win this battle," Neal added, stepping aside from the mass of snowballs flying through the air. "We always win our battles, you see," Between the trees, Neal spied a glimpse of Emma and her fleece jacket, moving silently through the woods and forest. He needed to keep Milah and Henry distracted and not let them turn around.

Again, snowballs were thrown, one hitting Neal square into the chest.

Muttering under his breath, willing Emma to move faster, Neal cleared his throat and yelled, "I will plead this once more- surrender yourselves and allow Emma and I to achieve victory," Across the way, Emma pressed her back against a wooden tree and breathed slowly, her breath exhaling into the cold weather. Peering around the tree, Emma smiled, knowing she had reached her targets- Henry and Milah. Their attention was focused on Neal, ranting away, never bothering to look behind them. "We only ask this simple request to _benefit_ you," Neal began to say.

Rolling a snowball in her hands, Emma took her stance, extending her arm in front of her. Neal, catching Emma's gaze, watched her intently, waiting for the signal. Bending low to the ground, Neal picked up a snowball and began tossing it in the air, playing with it as if it was a toy. Emma nodded, and Neal understood what that meant- prepare to run.

"You _still_ won't surrender," Neal asked finally, planting his feet on the ground, his snowball landing in his palms. He did not receive an answer. Before he could utter another word, two snowballs lurched through the air, soaring towards the backs of Milah and Henry. Landing in a crumbling mess in her hair, Milah spun around to face nothing but woods, while the snowball intended for Henry landed with a crash on his jacket.

Emma was gone behind the trees before anyone could process it, hiding, waiting for her next move. Making two more snowballs, Emma readied herself again, throwing the snowballs through the air and sending them towards the destination of Milah and Henry. They began to scream and throw their snowballs into the air without a care.

It was a matter of defense, Emma figured, and yet they didn't seem to notice her as she appeared next to Neal, a smug smile on her face. With targets in their minds, Milah and Henry jumped up from the snowbank and began to throw the snowballs with all their might, sending them flying through the air with a determined mindset.

"Nice work, Bonnie," Neal managed to say as he began hauling his snowballs into the air, watching them as they landed upon their victims. Emma quickly began to make an armload of snowballs, sending them through the air almost as fast.

She turned to her husband as Milah's snowball hit the pocket of her jeans. "Thanks, Clyde" she breathed, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Henry, thoroughly aggravated, willed his snowball to hit his fathers grin off his face, however, the white mush crumbled near his cheek. "Get ready to run. They're getting mad," Before her, with a severe throwing arm, Milah again hit Emma on her chest, while the older woman dished her snowball towards Milah, hitting the three year old's blue hat.

Neal jumped out of the way from Henry and Milah's snowballs, giving them the fate of crashing into a tree trunk. In a massive wave of snowballs- where they came from was a mystery to Emma and Neal, though they figured it was Milah and Henry's magic- Milah and Henry yipped with glee as the snow hit their mother and father in various places, like their face and chest. "On the count of three we run, Bonnie," Neal said aloud, wiping snow from his face. Emma threw more snowballs into the air, not wanting to use her magic. "One... Two... _Three,_"

Before Milah or Henry knew what their parents had planned, the adults broke off into a run, springing towards town, while throwing snowballs over their shoulders. In rapid motions, each adult bent down, still running, formed a large snowball, and threw it into the air, hoping it would crash against their children. Milah looked at her brother and shrugged, following her parents close behind.

"That's not fair," the three year old squealed, picking up snow with her small hands, creating a circle shape, and passing it through the air.

Emma turned back and looked at her daughter, running a few feet behind. "There's no rules, kid! Sorry," With her right arm, Emma snapped her wrist and allowed a snowball to cruise into the air, hitting Milah on her jacket front. Henry was running with Milah, next to her, and grabbed her hand, pushing through the snow faster.

The fourteen year old, a plan forming in his mind, formed a ball of snow in his hand. With his pace quickening and Milah keeping up, Henry was able to run closer to his parents. As Neal's head swerved around, Henry threw his snowball, hitting Neal in his nose. "YES," Henry screamed in triumph.

"Okay, _that_ was not fair," Neal yelled over his shoulder, forcing a snowball to land on Henry's shoulder.

Henry smiled and clawed the ground for snow. "There's no rules, dad! Sorry," the fourteen year old quoted, a thundering glare from his mother heading his way. A snowball hit his legs, little pieces of snow crawling into his socks, sending him to jump up and down, the wet material ruining the warm environment of his socks. "Oh, come _on_," Henry grumbled.

In front of them, Emma and Neal arrived onto the black pavement top of the town. Cars were parked along the side of the streets, though no one appeared to be outside. The center of Storybrooke was dead, looking almost like a ghost town, the only movements the red, green, and yellow glow of the traffic lights.

Their feet pounding across the pavement, Neal reached for Emma's hand and pulled her towards the sidewalk. Towering mounds of snow sat on the gutter, and, scooping it in his hands, Neal formed it into a ball and threw it at his children, deforming in their faces. Emma, following Neal's lead, watched her snowball soar through the air, while Milah, working through her anger and joy, willed her snowball to land in Emma's eyes.

"_Milah_," Emma screamed, her voice octaves louder than it's usual tone. The piercing sound was enough to grab the attention of fellow townsfolk, rattling their window panes with distaste. Milah grinned through her loose teeth and sprinted next to Henry, their snowballs hitting the backs of their parents.

"Who's winning," Neal asked his wife, turning down Main Street, while throwing a snowball behind him, hitting Milah on her ear. "I'm not entirely sure anymore," he chuckled.

In the middle of Main Street, Emma skidded to a stop and pulled Neal next to her. "Let's finish this frickin' game once and for all," she muttered, forming snowballs in her hands. Milah and Henry stopped abruptly, and watched their parents. Gathering the idea of what they wanted to do, the kids began make snowballs and send them flying into the air. Emma ducked and threw her snowball, no target in her mind other than the goal of winning. Henry retreated a snowball into the air, hitting his father, who stumbled on his feet and landed on the ground. "Neal, get up! Get up," Emma screamed, kicking her husband in the shoulder with her boots. Multitasking, Emma threw a snowball into the air and allowed it to hit her son's cheek.

Grabbing Emma's extended hand, Neal clambered up to the ground and ducked low as another snowball lurched through the air. Instead of warning his wife, Neal watched as it hit Emma's jacket and sputtered around her. The woman wasn't bothering to look, instead, as her ponytail whipped behind her, Emma catapulted her snowballs and dodged incoming ones. "What if the whole town is watching us and we don't even know it," Neal asked his wife, forming a mound of snow in his hands.

"Then we give 'em a show," Emma replied, leaping to the left, looking like an elegant ballerina. "Neal, watch out," she added as Henry's snowball whizzed past. Milah ran sideways, doing the grapevine in a fast motion, and threw snowball after snowball at her parents, never missing her targets.

As Neal pitched his snowballs, he spotted a ruffle of curtains in an apartment building that was adjacent to him. He knew that apartment well, it's brick building unmistakable, but Neal didn't have time to think about it further when he heard his wife scream again, blocking a passing snowball with the one she just threw.

Growing tired, Milah tossed the remaining snowball in her hand towards the street and trailed over to a pile of snow. She collapsed into it and breathed out shakily, absorbing the snow that flooded into her coat. Waving her feet back and forth, Milah began to make a snow angel, ignoring her parents and brother as they wholeheartedly threw their snowballs at each other. Propping herself on her elbows, the three year old watched her family and their snowball fight, hoping to regain her energy to join back in.

"Just give up, Henry! Emma and I are gonna win," Neal yelled with a smirk, looking over at Milah.

But Henry shook his head and threw his snowballs with much force. "You're lying! I think I inherited Emma's 'superpower', the fourteen year old retorted, dodging a snowball. "because I know damn well that you're a horrible liar,"

Emma, aghast, screamed, "HENRY, you aren't allowed to swear," while throwing her last snowball towards her son with immense irritation. The cold mushy ball landed with a splatter on Henry's chin. "Only Neal and I can," she added with a smile.

"What are you gonna do," the fourteen year old taunted, dropping his snowball and sticking his tongue out at his mother. "Make me into a snowman," Henry added, repeating Emma from either in the morning. From the fierce glow in Emma's eyes, Henry wasn't sure if she was joking minutes before, yet his thoughts clouded over once seeing Neal and Emma rush towards him. In Neal's arms, Henry was slung over his shoulder, while the fourteen year old's legs began kicking violently back and forth. Emma took Milah and grabbed her from the snow, bring her over her shoulder, the three year old clapping with delight as her mother carried her. "Put me _down_," Henry laughed, hitting his father on his back.

"Nope, like you said, I'm makin' you into a snowman," Neal chuckled, toss his snow into the mound of snow. Emma followed close behind, and brought her daughter to the snow. The fighter and winning side of both Emma and Neal were gone, their insides begging to play with their children.

Henry laughed wildly, scrambling from the ground. "And what're you gonna name me," he asked, tackling his father, Milah joining in on the pig-pile. Emma crept behind Henry and, scooping snow into her hands, poured it onto her son's head, before the fourteen year old spun around to face his mother. Emma raised her eyebrows, waiting for Henry's next move, and, as the boy grabbed his own pile of snow, Emma didn't hesitate to move as the snow pelt her face. "Take that," he screamed.

"I'm _so_ gonna kill you," Emma laughed, grabbing her son and pushed him down the snowbank, watching as he rolled down it, laughing without a care in the world.

"Now, I'm _so_ gonna kill you," Henry repeated, climbing back up the hill towards his mother. But Emma, quickly distracted, fell to the ground next to her husband. Milah climbed on top of Neal, burying his face with snow, while Henry laughing and jumped on top of both of his parents.

Emma and Neal groaned with the extra weight. "God, kid, we're getting too old for you to do that," Neal breathed, the wind knocked out of him. Milah jumped up and down on her father's stomach, keeping him quiet as they squealed and dumped snow on him, making him look as if he were really a snowman.

Henry's lights were alight, and he exclaimed, "We're gonna call Dad Frosty the Snowman from now on,"

"Real original Hen'wee," Milah grumbled, rolling her eyes.


	4. Dark and Stormy

**A/N: Hey, all! Please check out my good friend amanda5500 on FanFiction and her suspenseful stories about Modern Family. She's an awesome writer that I'm sure you all will enjoy. Anyways, Christmas break is almost upon us, and holiday cheer is spreading around the town I live in. I love Christmas time and all that it brings- the music, the life, the laughter, the smells and tastes, the presents, and the movies. Did you all see the winter finale of Once Upon a Time? I did! My mom and I both think that it was one of the best episodes the show had ever produced, and for all the Swanfire shippers out there, it was prof that Neal and Emma have true love. If you need a direct reason please tell me and I will be happy to explain. :)**

**Thanks for the reviews! Happy holidays! **

**My love goes out to you, **

**Zander1210**

* * *

Milah tip-toed into her house silently, covering her mouth with one hand, hoping not to make a peep. With her left hand behind her back, the three year old prayed that her miniature sand castle would remain in it's royal form, yet she could feel the grain seeping towards the creases in her hands. Milah had created her small castle in the depths of her sandbox, where the sand was damp and moist from the previous days rain, and it looked as elegant and luxurious as what she imagined her grandparent's castle was like in the Enchanted Forest.

Playing in the wet sand all day long, Milah was sunburned and dirty, with sand covering her orange tee-shirt and jeans. Her parents had come out every few minutes to check on the three year old, though the occasional few minutes turned into every half an hour, until it was lunch time. After eating her lunch, which consisted mostly of Goldfish and apple juice, Milah ran through the glass slider door and back outside, where she was absorbed into her imagination for the rest of the day.

It was late afternoon, the sun dipping low over the clouds, and Milah figured it was time for her to face her parents and exit her own made-up world of what she liked to call Gorgons, Corgons, and Dorgons, all of which were mythical creatures that helped defend the world of Explortors. Wanting to preserve the regal castle her Gorgons, Corgons, and Dorgons lived in, Milah took her sandcastle with her inside the house, though it was proving to deteriorate before her eyes.

Closing the door behind her, her body facing the wooden structure, Milah had yet to see her brother, looking amused as his sister sneakily snaked around the house. "Glad you could finally find time to come inside," Henry announced suddenly, watching as Milah nearly jumped out of her skin.

"I, uh, was busy," Milah muttered, catching her breath, feeling the sand fall lightly onto her hand.

Henry rolled his eyes and looked up from the television. "You know, you were supposed to be in the house by five o'clock, Milah," he informed with a stern tone, one that annoyed Milah immensely. "And it's six o'clock," the fourteen year old added with a glance over at the wall clock.

Milah peered up the staircase for her mother and father, hoping they were occupying themselves with something other than worrying that their daughter hadn't come in from being outside all day. _But they could have looked out of the curtains to find me_, Milah reasoned with herself, _and they would have known perfectly well that I was outside_. She shrugged and told herself not to give it a second's thought. The sandcastle hidden behind Milah steadily dripped on the floor, the sand landing in a pile at the back of her high tops. "I was busy," Milah repeated to her brother, thinking about her Gorgons and their friends.

Her Gorgons, Corgons, and Dorgons, were actual figurines of dragons and other flying creatures that her father had brought home one day after work. Neal had found them on a dusty shelf within Mr. Gold's shop, looking scaly and metallic, while majestic and fantastical. Milah normally took in her figures, but decided to leave them outside, just this once, guarding the second sandcastle that housed the infamous Explortors.

"Busy with what," Henry interrogated, muting the television and staring at his sister. "Do you know how worried Mom and Dad could have been if you stayed outside any longer," Upstairs, Milah heard the footsteps of her mother and father, both creaking the wooden floorboards.

Milah felt her stomach drop again, and cursed her brother for getting to her. What if she had worried her parents? _Surely they would have looked for her if time was of the essence_, Milah thought. But she bit her lip and remained calm, acting just as Emma would in a sticky situation. "Mama and Papa 'eren't worried 'cause they saw me playing outside," Milah replied with ease.

Henry raised an eyebrow, mirroring Neal. "Are you _sure_ about that," he asked softly.

"Yeah," the three year old answered with a firm nod of her head. Glancing down at the sand sprawled around her feet, Milah hastily bent down to clean it up, before the sound of her parents talking and climbing the staircase rang through her head.

She ignored their voices and cleaned the kitchen floor faster, ridding only a block of the sand. The grain was spread across four more planks of wood, and the very thought of cleaning it with magic crossed her mind. But she couldn't use magic, for she had promised her parents that the use of magic for things other than her lessons would result in grounding or timeout.

Emma and Neal entered the kitchen and stopped once seeing their daughter, looking like a deep sea hag, as she scrambled to press the sand in her palms again. "Kid, you're a mess," Emma noticed, stopping mid-conversation with Neal. "What have you been doing all this time,"

"Playing in the sandbox," Milah answered with a small grin, one that matched Neal's. It seemed that their smiles were sewn onto their faces, couldn't be scraped off, the constant lull of being happy pulsed through her father and Milah's veins. "With my toys," she added.

Neal knelt down on the floor to help dust the sand away, and, grabbing a broom from the hall closet, swept away the remains of Milah's enchanting castle. "You tracked sand into the house, M," Neal stated, raising his eyebrows like Henry, brushing a piece of Milah's sand-soaked hair from her eyes. "Take off those shoes and hop into the bath,"

Milah kicked off her high tops, which flung towards the other side of the kitchen, and scampered upstairs, with Emma following close behind. Neal shook his head, murmuring under his breath, though a bright smile was placed on his lips. He had always liked to see his daughter seem so full of life, so entranced by her games and imagination, feel like she could do anything. It was a pleasure to see Milah grow as a child each day, both physically and playfully.

After putting away the broom, Neal slumped onto the couch next to Henry and raised the volume for the television, the loud and obnoxious voice of the weather man echoing around the living room. "All right, citizens of Storybrooke, prepare for a storm," he informed with an umbrella raised over his head, as animated rain began to pelt around him and his pressed suit. "Bringing you much rain, thunder, lightning, and wind, our first Northeaster is venturing into our quaint little town tonight,"

Neal and Henry groaned, and threw their heads back against the couch. "Great," Neal muttered, draping his arm behind him to prop his head up. "Just what we need,"

"Just what _you_ need," Henry corrected with a nudge in his father's side. "Milah's gonna be awake all night, bothering both you and Emma. You're hardly gonna get any sleep," Giving a laugh, Henry turned the channel of the news and grabbed a game counsel controller.

"I'll be sure to wake you up, as well," Neal retorted, reaching for the second game controller and popping Mario Kart into the game system. "But, for now, lets enjoy electricity while we have it," Selecting the first course, Donkey Kong Mountain, Neal braced himself to race his son.

Henry clicked a button on his controller and gave his dad a sidelong look. "You're on," he said, readying for the race course.

* * *

An hour later, as the Cassidy family was eating dinner, the rain began to pour down. Filling the gutters instantly, pools of water waved back and forth between the confines, while the harsh droplets of water crashed onto the patio, grass, and play area of the backyard. Down Main Street, cars were deserted, the windows rolled tightly and snugly up, as the rain pounded against the pavement. The wind howled, shaking the trees back and forth with what left they had of leaves, and lightning struck through the air, slicing the town into sections.

"Looks like the Northeaster is upon us," Neal grumbled, forking down his grilled cheese and tomato soup. "So much for a good night's sleep," he added under his breath, making Henry stifle a giggle.

Emma looked up from wiping away a drop of Milah' tomato soup from the three year old's chin. "We're getting a storm? I didn't know that," she confined with a frown upon her face. Milah looked frantically around the kitchen, towards the trash where the grains of sand from her castle lay, and towards the window, where the rain was furiously pounding against the glass.

The three year old's mind raced towards her action figures, helplessly drowning in the storm outside. She wished with all her might that they were safe, that the sand castle of the Explortors buried on top of the figures protected them from the rain. "My toys," Milah screeched, jumping up from her chair. Just the many thoughts that had rushed into her mind about her beloved toys had made the three year old antsy. "My toys! My toys! My toys," she yelled, running towards the glass slider.

"Wait! Milah, wait," Neal called, his chair skidding on the floor as he rushed towards his daughter. Milah, reaching on her toes to grasp the slider door handle, stretched higher and higher, inches away from the handle. "You can't go outside in the rain," he exclaimed with a nervous chuckle, lifting Milah from the floor.

But the three year old began to claw her way around Neal's grip, throwing her hands towards the glass slider, willing it to open with her desperation to use magic. "Papa, please! My toys- they're outside in da rain! I need them back," Milah screamed, holding back the tears that wanted to fall.

Emma and Henry rushed to Neal's aid and began to help calm the upset three year old, though doing no good. Milah wanted her action figures, their precise paint job, their keys to her best memories. Neal turned Milah in his arms, struggling to keep the squirming toddler within his reach. "Milah, I'm sure they're fine. You can't go out in the lightning and thunder, you'll get hurt," he explained with a calm voice.

Henry glanced from Neal to the pouring rain, bashing against the glass. "But I _need_ them! They have ta be safe," Milah cried, droplets of water streaming down her face. "Da Explortors will kill them," she added, her cheeks burning red.

Confused, Neal asked, "What," while Emma rolled her eyes and began to process her child's imaginary beliefs. It was something that every kid had gone through, when their creativity took hold of their world and made it seem as if was part of the real world. Even though Henry's obsession with fairy tales was true, Emma couldn't help but think that Milah's strong willed thoughts about superheroes and cartoons characters were true as well.

"The action figures you gave her from Gold's shop," Emma explained quickly, as Milah grew restless in her father's arms. Neal nodded in understanding and shrugged to fix Milah, draping over his arms, latching onto the door handle leading outside.

The rain poured down steadily, while the wind howled around the family. "Papa, lemme go! I need ta get them," Milah complained.

Neal glanced from his daughter to the outside world, full of the harsh reality that kids inevitably have to face. The world sometimes didn't give everyone their happy endings, both Emma and Neal knew that growing up, but their love brought them closer. If Milah's love for her toys vanished because Neal wouldn't let her claim her toys, drowning in the rain, Neal knew that Milah would never get over her deceased toys. Her hope would be gone, and the world as she knew it -full of imagination and creativity- would be gone into what adults see it as. Neal took a deep breath and said, "All right, I'll let you out of my arms, but I'm going outside to get your toys. I don't want you to get wet,"

Milah, Henry, and Emma stared at Neal in bewilderment. "Are you insane," Emma asked incredulously.

With a slight smile, Neal answered, "Yes. I thought you knew that already,"

Emma rolled her eyes and replied, "I did, but my thoughts on your status just grew,"

"Good," Neal chuckled, looking from his wife to his children, each of them biting back smiles and laughter.

Emma was the first to speak, and though her words were sarcastic, she meant well by them, "I hope you get electrocuted,"

"Thanks, Emma. I love you, too,"

"You know I'm just joking, "

"I don't, actually,"

"Neal..."

"Emma..."

"I love you,"

Neal retreated towards the coat rack and threw on his windbreak, before pulling the zipper up and raising the hood. Already in his waterproof boots that he usual wore for a back-breaking day at his father's store, Neal clambered over towards the glass slider, where Milah was intently watching him. "If I don't come back," Neal joked, despite his serious tone. He knelt down in front of his daughter and placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Do everything your mother tells you to do,"

Milah, suddenly frightful, looked up towards Emma. The older woman merely winked and willed her daughter to play along with Neal, knowing that her husband would be back, wouldn't abandon her again. "'Tank you, Papa, for getting my toys," Milah finally peeped with a small smile.

Neal gave her a kiss on her forehead before standing up. "Don't thank me just yet, kid," he responded. Placing his hand on the door, Neal glanced over his shoulder at his family, watching the outside rain pour violently down. For a few minutes, everyone was quiet, waiting for Neal to venture outside into the water, their hearts pounding in their chest. It was as if they were in the climax of an action movie, hanging by a loose thread that supported their concern.

"Oh, for the love of God, go get the frickin' toys," Emma exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air.

* * *

Running as quickly as he could as the rain hit his face with wet strokes, Neal stumbled down the porch stairs and towards the muddy sandbox, overflowing with water and puddles. Thunder crackled above, while lightning struck the trees, making them shake in the wind. Reaching the sandbox, Neal dropped onto his knees and dug harshly through the clumped sand, every now and then feeling the soft caress of the plastic on his skin.

_The things we do for our children, _Neal grumbled to himself, as the rain drenched him from head to toe. Feeling the water enter the small holes in his boots, Neal swore and dug through the sandbox faster. He found three more action figures and racked his brain for the number of toys he brought his little girl home that first afternoon. _Just a few more, _he rationalized, only seven more to find._  
_

At long last, the grains of sand encrusted into his skin and hands, Neal found all ten of the action figures. Tucking them under his arm in the bridge of his coat, the man sprinted towards the safety of his home as the thunder continued to erupt. His hand on the wooden rail leading up, Neal could barely see his outstretched hand in front of him, using only his intuition to find his way.

Before he had a chance to reach for the door knob towards the house, the slider was whipped open and a sudden blast of warm air floated around Neal's body. Two hands pulled Neal into the living room, where he was left shivering in his wet windbreaker. "It's not even that bad out. Just sprinkling," Neal joked as Emma helped him out of his coat and boots.

"Sprinkling my ass," Emma muttered, catching the coat as Neal shrugged out of it. Landing on the floor in a pile were Milah's action figures, hoping to dry along the house mat Neal was standing on. "You must be freezing," she observed.

Henry ran from the room and returned a few moments later with a dry thermal shirt. "Here you go, dad," the fourteen year old said, one step ahead of his mother and father. Soaked into the fabric of his plain tee-shirt, Neal's chest was covered in goosebumps, his hair along his abs sticking up in awareness.

Gratefully, Neal accepted the shirt and pulled it over his head, already warmer. "Thanks, Henry," As Emma and Henry began to clean up the soggy clothes that were being stripped from Neal's body -his white undershirt, his blue tee-shirt, and his fleece zip up jacket- Milah tumbled towards the floor to check on her Gorgons, Corgons, and Dorgons, and her Explortors.

Lining them up along the metal rafter near the slider door, Milah dried her toys with a sweep of her purple pajama top and smiled apologetically down at them. Neal watched with fascination at his daughter, while he waited for Emma to search the laundry room for a clean and dry pair of socks.

"Papa," Milah said, bringing her blonde head up towards her father's gaze.

Neal looked down at her and nodded, questioning in his eyes. "Yes, sweetie," he asked.

In a rush of blonde hair, Milah hugged her father's middle and mumbled, "'Tank you," into his shirt, taking in the faint smell of the rain that had washed over his body. "You're my hero,"


End file.
